a —————_,e, Unresponsive, fie loved me, but I loved not him, I know not why, It was awhim Of fickle Fate’s that he should pour Out at my feet such lavish store Of love and service, all in vain. I knew bis worth and it was pain To pain him so, yet not one word Of bis sweet pleadings ever stirred Responsive ¢choes in my breast Or woke my heart from its calin rest. I loved him, but he loved not me, I longed, I struggled to be free; I felt it shame to love unsought, My love by no sweet service bought; Yet all in vain, Did but his face Appear, a glory filled the place While he was near. He must have read Something, I fear, my glances sald, But he was only my kind friend, And so continued to the end Then. is it true that love's begot By loving? Ab, I fear me not! Or had t loved the man who poured Qut at wy feet such boundless hoard Of truest love; or else had been Loved Ly that other man, to win W hose heart [ had well-nigh forgot To woo is not the woman's lot. ONLY A BUTTON. A cheerful south room with a bay window full of blossoming plants, a bright fire glowing behind a burnished grate, a carpet whose soft, velvety pile was shaded in blue and wood colors, to correspond with the damask covered furniture, and a little gilded these things met Mrs, Chickery’s eye as she laid down her book and yawned as widely as her ripe cherry of a mouth would admit, She was a plump, fair-faced young with bright auburn hair, soft blue eyes, need of no artificial rouge to heighten their charms, rimson n to her semi-blonde style. “Fanny,” said Mr. Chickerly, look- ing up from newspaper, ‘‘did call on those Carters to-day?” ‘No, I never thought of it.” ‘““And they leave town to-morrow morning: and Carter is absurdly sensi- tive to all shghts, fancied 18 <alling.”’ “Well. I did intend to,” Chickerly, ‘but one can't everything,” “*Y ou cannot it seems.”’ ‘It appears to me you are making a ' said she, pouted Mrs. think of Ol gusly, Carter's house carries great in- Muence withir.” Mrs. Chickerly was silent, patting the that indicated annoyance, “I shall have toleave very early to- morrow morning,” said her husband, presently, “To go to Scenersville about Aunt Elizabeth’s will?” “Y gs? “Oh, I wouldn't, Frank." “Why not?” “It’s such bitter travel in; whimsical old woman, it’s as likely as not she’ll change her mind about making a will when you there, 1 would wait a little, if I were you.” Mr. Chickerly smiled. “*That would be your system of doing things but not mine,” “My system, Frank! mean?’ “I mean that you believe in putting things off indefinitely, and notalways in the wisest manner. I wish you would break yourself of that habit. Believe ill some day bring you to grief.” ckerly contracted her eye- cold weather to get What do you be n't AN Frank.” “And I don’t very often lecture you, my dear; pray give me credit for that.” “You didn’t think you were marry- ing an angel when you took me I hope?” “No, mylove. I thought I was mar- rying a very pretty little girl, who e few fay ts might easily be corrected.” AFaults! Have I any great faults, Prank?’ “Yittle faults may sometimes entail great consequences,’’ “If you scold any more I shall go out of the room.” “You need not, for [ am going my- self to pack my valise. By the way, there's a butto off the shirt I want to wear to-morrow. come up stairs and sew it on for me.” “I will, presently.”’ “Why can’t you come now?"’ “1 just want to finish this there’s only one more chapter.” believe in ing lectured, to contest the question, Sitting all alone in front of the bright fire, Mrs, Chickerly. gradually grew drowsy, and before sh2 knew it she had drifted off into the shadowy regions of dreamland. She was roused by the clock striking il. “Dear me! how late it 18!” she thought, with a little start. *‘I must go up-stairs immediately. There, I for- ot to tell the cook about having break- ast at 5 o'clock to-morrow morning, and, of course, she’s abed and asleep by this time. I will be up early enough to see to it myself, that will do just as well,’ Lay this salve on her conscience, Mrs, Chickerly turned off the gas and crept drowsily up the stairs, * * * “Fanny, Fanny, its past 5 and cook hasu't come down-stairs yet. Are you sure you spoke to her last night?’’ Mrs. Chickerly rubbed her eyes and Sooked sleepily around. “Oh, Frank, I forgot all about speak- dng to her last night,”’ she said, with couscience-stricken face. ‘But I'll run wight up; she can have breakfast ready in a very few minutes,” She sprang out of bed, thrust her feet into a pair of silk-lined slippers, and theew her shawl over her shotilders, wr Chickerly bit his lip and checked “No need, Fanny,’ he said, a little y. “f must leave the house in minutes or miss the only through Iv’s of no use speaking to cook “Dm 80 sorry, Frank.” Br. Chickerly did not an: wer; he was - apparently abrori oft fn turning over the various articles in his bureau drawer, while Fanny sat shivering on the edge of the bed, cogitating how hard it was for her husband to start on a long jour- ney that bitter morning without any breakfast, “I can make a cup of coffee myself over the furnace fire,” she exclaimed, springing to her feet. But Mr. Chickerly again interposed. “Sit down, Fanny, please. I would rather you would sew this button on he neck of my shirt. 1 have packed the others—those that are fit to wear, I have shirts enough, but not in repair,’’ Fanny cerimsoned as she remembered how often in the cowse of the last month or two she had solemnly promised herself a day to the much needed reno- vation of her husvand’s shirts. She looked around for her thimble. “1 left it down-stairs last night, get it in a minute, Th I'll blazing and cracking cheerily among the fresh coals, and Fanny could not resist the temptation of pausing & moment to tively. “Fanny, Fanny! ing?" “Oh, dear!” ran up-stairs, “I wish Frank wouldnt be so cross. He’s always in a hurry.” Little Mrs. Chickerly never stopped to “ina hurry.” the button his wife. was never The needle threaded, | fitted on, an appropriate i next to be selected. “Oh, dear, Frank, I hax | right size!® ‘Sew on what you have, | quick!" jut Was en't then: but be Fanny was quite certain there | her work-basket, and stopped to search for it. “There, 1 umphantly, holding | her needle, “Well, well, sew it on quick!" Mr. Chickerly, glancing at his nervously, **That’s j YOUr worrying { Frank; as if anybody could a but- ton on well in a hurry. There! | needle has come unthreaded.” “Oh, Fanny, Fanny!” sighed her hus- band, fairly out of patience at last, “why didn’t ¥y« it last night, as 1 begged of you? I shall miss the train, s tas : oP told you so!’’ she cried tri- aid wat *h ust way, SW wa do be sacrifi- being be- in Aunt Elizabeth’s will will {eed to your miserable habit of hind-hand."’ Fanny gave hi y shirt and began to whimper a li but Mr, Chickerly | had neither the time nor the inclination to pause to soothe her petulant mani- | festation of g | ing, caught | riedly spoken *‘good-l with a 4 1 ; Vailise xe 13 J * “There he goes,’ murmured I; “and he's gone away cross with me, { all for nothing but a miserable button! I wish t wasn't thing as a button in the world!” A wish which we many another wife than Mrs, has echoed, with perhaps betler reason.) Mrs, Chickerly was sitting down her little dinner, with a daintily | browned chicken, a tumbler of currant jelly, a curly bunch of celery ranged be- ny, here such a must misdoubt, Ct to opened and in walked her lord and hus- band. “Why, Frank, vou come from?” wife, “From the office,’ ed Mr. Chickerly. “But I thought you were Scenersville in such a hurg."”’ “I found myself just five mmutes too late for the train, after having run all the way to the detot.” “Oh, that was too bad.” “Chickerly began to smile a little as he began to carve the chicken.” where on earth Very cooly answer- off for | it did seem rather provoking to be kept | at home by only a shirt button.” “What ara you going to do?”’ ‘““Why, I shall make a second start to- morrow,’ ready this time, to the second, and all | your wardrobe in trim,” said Fanny, | rather relieved at the prospect of | chance of retrieving her character, “You fieed not. | room at a hotel near the depot, { run any more risks.” i He did not speak unkindly, and yet Fanny felt that he was deeply displeased { with her. “But Frank-—-"' “We will not discuss the matter any i further. my dear, if you please. I have | about reforms. | only tends to foster an unpleasant state | of feeling between us. Shall I help you | to some more macaroni?’ Fairly silenced, Fanny ate her dinner with what appetite was left her, Three days afterward Mr. Chickerly once more made lus entrance, just at dusk, valise in hand, while Fanny sat enjoying the ruddy light of the coal fire and the consciousness of having per- formed her duty in the mending and general rennovation of her husband's drawerful of shirts—a job which she had long been dreading and postponing. “Well, how is Aunt Ehzabeth?" questioned Mrs. Chickerly, when her husband, duly welcomed and greeted, had seated himself in the opposite easy- chair. “Dead,” was the brief reply, “Dead! Oh, Frank! Of her old enemy, apoplexy?”’ “Yes? “Was her will made?” “It was, Apparently she had ex- pected me on the day she herself ap- pointed; and on my non-arrival on the only train that stops she sent for the village lawyer, de her will, and left all her property to the orphan asylum in Scenersville, with a few bitter words to the effect that the negle t of her only living nephew had induced her, on the spur of the moment, to alter her original intention of leaving it tohim, She died the next morning.’ “Oh, Frank. how much was it?" “Ten thousand dollars,” There was a moment or two of silence, then Mr. Chickerly added composedly: “You see, Fanny, how much that missing button has cost me,” Mis, Chickerly sat like one condemned by the utteranee of her own conscience, Not alone the one missing button, but the scores—nay, hundreds—of trifling omissions forgetfulness and postpone- ments which made her life one endless endeavor to *‘eatch up” with the trans piring present, seemed to present them- selves before her mind’s eye, What would this end in? Was not the present lesson sufliciently momentous to her to teach her to train herself in a different school? She rose and came to her nusbands’s side, laying one tremulous hand on his shoulder, ‘‘There shall be no more mis- sing buttons, my love,”’ she said ear- nestly, He comprehended all that she left un- speken, and silently pressed the little was said upon the subject, But it was not forgotten, Mrs, Chick- root the rank weeds growing in the gar- And she succeeded, as - —— -— - INNKEEPERS ABROAD. Olrcamvyent Them. The pitfalls which the inn-keepers guage has no show whatever, and his trunk on the emnibus, and your traln, t will serve you little. You may ask, This is a favorite wins. Now and then, of course, it doesn’t, the followed: “What ia this?’ said my friend, with spoke the language like a native. “That is very true; but monsieur “The devil I might.” “Yes, monsieur,”’ **But I didn't order any breakfast.” monsieur,'’ “Do you mean to tell me that to charge you me for breakfast I same, monsieur, to pay simply for what I got.” ‘It 15 a rule of the house, monsisur, to cnarge every one for breakfast,” “Then you pretend that you provide ‘*Yes, monsieur, See the menu? Here it is," and the firm, yet polite landlord produced his regular *‘a Ia carfe.”’ friend turned it upside down. Then he Then he sald: “How much of this do you serve as your regular breakfast?” “Anything you like, monsieur,” will eat it, Bring me a fillet of bee” with Mine host of the Hotel des Alps looked bill quite correct to catch your train, Work of the Big Volcanoes. Vesuvius in the celebrated eruption more lava and ashes than its would OW size: streets of Pompeii, six miles distant. Etna, in 1680, disgorged more than of surface and measured nearly one hun. tion of the same mountain in 1810 the molten sea Kept moving at the rate of a yard a day for about nine months, and and solid for ten years. From thirty to forty million cubic feet of matter have re- peatedly been discharged from the great- er volcanoes, Tunguragua, in the Andes, in 1797, filled up valleys one thousand feet wide and six hundred feet deep. Cotopaxi has projected from its crater a block 109 cubie yards in bulk a dis- tance of nine miles, while its roar has been heard for more than 600, Java's volcanoes are perhaps the most noted of the world, their eruptions destroying from one to four thousand lives at a time. Farthquakes have been attended with more widely fatal results, as a rule, than volcanic upheavals. In Cecilia, in 1268, 60,000 persons perished from one shock or series of shocks; in 1450, Naples furnished 40,000 victims, and in 1626, 70,000, The Lisbon earthquakes of 1531 and 1755 each destroyed from 30,000 to 60,000 lives. The havoe wrought in Yeddo, Japan, in 1703, is known to us, of course, only by tradition, but the fikares from this source reach the appalling height of 200,000 souls, Bo, it will be seen, the disaster which visited New Zealand in June will have to make a startling record if it is to be placed in the first class of destructive convulsions ® A Beashore Romance. When Kenneth Farley reached Vin eta, a little seaside resort on the Jersey coast, it was after a rainy drive of sev- eral miles from the railroad. He was quite wet through, and was in no very gentle mood when the Jandlady told him he was too late for supper, and de- murred about lighting the kitchen fire anew to cook him anything, he fairly lost his temper. As the landlady moved off, saying she would seer what could be done, he uttered an angry expletive, and strid- ing up to the fireplace where some logs kick at one of them, “Deuce take it,’ he said, *‘I wish I had never come to the beastly place.” A half-uttered sigh startled him. had thought himself alone in the room, but looking around, he saw that a large, place, sheltered an occupant, Kenneth turned a guilty scarlet, Here was a lady—-undoubtedly a real lady--who had caught him swearing in her presence, To make matters worse, was both young and pretty, even now, reply to him; she was barely able to turn her head. Desperation had lent him the strength of a giant. He had battled the waves successfully where another would have failed. As he reached her her eyes for one moment rested on his face. the long strained muscles relaxed, and only his protecting arm kept her above water, otherwise she would have sunk forever. It was one of heaven’s and miracles that he ever reached the shore; ing her in his arms and kissing her to eonsciousness again, She opened her eyes and met the look | face, he | will { low, scarcely audible voice, i saved you from death, I | give you up!” Perhaps it was her weakness; perhaps a secret tenderness she had long striven for it; but whatever it was she allowed him to hold her there in his arms, and she smiled when he kissed her, began nervously to apologize, there was a lady present.” It was a lame excuse, he felt, and he the dark-violet eyes were slowly lifted while a low musical voice replied : If you will excuse my saying i gentlemen have uage, either in or out of a lady mee, I did not know that gentlemen,”’ with emphasis on the word, ‘did it.” Kenneth turned more red than before no right to use such lan- Ss pres. ickly as poss nately he had at that Was an- room as qu ible, for for \ viel Hilf iu th supper nounced, Kenneth Farley had nota He was 28: he wi + Ne as y susceptible rich and found even passing favor in his eyes. heart-whole for vears are sud- precipitated into the abyss of love, It happened so to Kenneth now, He had risen early to stroll about, for the storm was over and ightly: and when he returned to the was being served, Miss house breakfast for that, as he had found on the sun shone br but when he bowed hesitatingly she answered a slight, cool inclination of the head. The six weeks which Ken tended to give to the seashore length- become madly in love, and he could not himself away. Several times ided to go, but at the last moment he changed 1 Yet he felt his den his mind. wtel was now fall, and Miss Onslow had plenty of suitors, The bathing season had opened, when one morning he met Miss Onslow going to the beach very early; in fact, before the guests at Vineta generally had left the ors ge ir beds “Are you for a dip to-day?’ he said, eagerly “May 1 Isn't the surf nd? Aren't you al- most afraid of it! For there hz vidently been a storm ut at a cyclone, perhaps, so high ran the waves, so loud roared the 1 SEA wreak - oh id coldly, And ahe sa $ I'm not much alone, the least afraid !*' A deep flush overspread face, At first he felt like turning on jut love was stronger than pride, “You have never forgiven that me, I irst night, You are unjust.” “Mr. Farley,” she said, indignantly, a quick, angry mentor ?"’ A look of pain crossed his face as with a sudden appealing gesture he cried : “Oh, Ethel Miss Onslow--have pity! Don’t you know 1 love you?" But he went on passionately : Do not let a first impression Give me a chance “Impossible!’”’ she interrapted, in a cold, hard voice, “Then, he sald, bitterly, as he turned her, “I have nothing more to say.*’ He walked and the on on, along sheltered Vineta from the north winds, resolving to leave for home that very night. At last, flinging himself down on the wet sand, he watched the tempestuous waves, which seemed to embody the tumult in his mind, Quite an hour passed. and still he lay there. Presently ssmething caught his eve; a black object tossed by the waves, but slow drifting out to sea. “Good heaven!" he cried, springing to his feet, and tossing off his coat in desperate haste, “What if." For he remembered Ethel. What if it were she out there at sea and drifting to her death! This awful supposition chilled his blood. Heedless of the risk he ran he plunged into the sea and swam out toward the object, It roseand fell with the motion of the waves, But there was no longer any doubt as to what 1t was, It was a woman’s figure, prone upon its back and seemingly insensible, Was she floating or was she dead? A terrible agony took possession of Ken- neth’s mind, “Ethel!” he cried in ringing tones, “Ethel! Ethel” here was no answer, She was too distant to hear. Fuster and faster the apparently inanimate figure drifted out to sea ! It was Ethel, he knew now. The surf had been too strong for her, and swept her off her feet, and she had only saved herself from drowning by throwing her- self upon her back. She could not swim, but could float, Her stren was al ne when Kenneth reached her. She had heard, but was too weak to answer his wild appeal; she could vot, Art of the Aztecs. { American antiquities had their atlention | first called to the strange little beads which have been dug up in quantities in Mexico, upon the plain called the Path of the Dead, at Seoti- | huacan, They are generally quite invariably have a neck or handle at- tached to them behind, not to sent the human neck, but merely as a convenient means of fastening them to | some sort of terial. At least that is from the appearance, the inference These little mented upon and have been used as | arguments in favor of this or that view tematic study of them has been made, {In various museums. Natura! Sciences has some of them, | which were once in Peal’s museum: at { the Smithsonian there 1s a large collec- { tion, and at the National museum in the City of Mexico a still larger. There | they are labeled inquiringly, *Ildols or i ex-votos?" perhaps a daughter of the author of the “North American Sylva," has a very interesting paper upon these heads. In it an attempt is made to classiry them { and to show that they represent { viduals, men or women, among the Aztecs, and thst the strange head i exactly with those described by the | Spanish eye witnesses as worn at dif- ferent times—sometimes according to caprice of fashion, sometimes at re- ligious festivals, or in the exercise of | military or judicial functions, In classi. respond to three orders of development. The earliest are simply like masks, without backs to the heads or orua- ments of any sort; those of thé middle class have rounded heads, with grooves and holes for the adjustment of head dresses, which were afterward aflixed, while in the latest class the head | dresses, including very elaborate and | extraordinary arrangements of curls and puffs of the hair, are represented | in the molded clay, as well as feathers and skins, gold and precisus stones, Extracts are given from Spanish writers, who describe the figures of | their idols and of their priests and vie- | tims, the military classes and the fash. jonable women, and they are found to | correspond with what is found molded {in these terra coitas, Moreover, | is shown that to this day the manufac- tare of small wax and clay figures, which are dressed as dolls, is carried on | extensively, and that at Paebla are {made by Indians of the Aztec race | truly wonderful groups of fine clay fig- | ures not half an inch in height. The | skill of the Indian potters of Guadala- | jara is lauded throughout Mexico, and | the writer has often been told of certain | individuals there who, after a moments’ observation only, can reproduce in clay with extraordinary fidelity not only the | features of a stranger, but the whole figure, with details of a complex mod- | ern costume, The conclusion, therefore, 18 come to that the little heads are in all proba- | bility portraits of persons. The heads are aiways in repose, avd in come the eyes are closed, which, in the picture writings, means death. The same head dresses are found upon faces young and | smooth, or with sunken cheeks and | elongated jaws, A deity would not be 80 represented, but a conventional | character having been decided upon he | would be always portrayed accordingly. i i | eties of clay for them to have all come | to be attached to bodies made of some | perishable material. They may be ar- ranged In classes, representing either They wear in common a limited variety of headgear, and the reasons given by recent writers for assigning the clay known periods cease to exist, as the evidence of show that closely similar head worn by the Mexicans at or perioC of the Spanish conquest, catamaran The Lumber World says that oiling wood with linseed a, or even with coal oil or kerosene, will protect it from worms, One of the curiosities of the animal kingdom is the eulachon or candle-fish, ( Thaleichthys pacificus) of the North- eastern Pacific. It is about fourteen inches long, resembles the smelt In appearance, and is caught in large uantities in the early spring. It is the fattest of all known fishes, for which reason its dried and smoked ie oy the Ind win ndians, oll algo is drunk. So fat thay when dried 1t burns flame until entirely consu a candle much either with or without a passed throngh the body, ut the £1 =BES: : i ft i PHILOSOPHIZING ON CANES. What They Were, What They Are, What They Mean, and How Handled. “You can hardly conceive any class | of society that does not wear canes” | said the philosopher. *‘Neither can you | fix a time when the staff, the forerunner { of the modern cane, was first introduced. The shepherd, the hunter, the fisherman, | the wayfarer, the corporal, the marshal, the pedagogue, the mendicant , the king, | the sorcerer—all wore and wear now a | staff or cane. Did it ever occur to you { that the shepherd's staff is as much the origin of the modern dude’s cane as the | shepherd’s dog is the precursor of the fleet grevhound, and watehful spitz, the Aitelligent poodle, the fighting mastiff, and the tender black-and-tan? Why, { the curve on the bishop's traditional i staff is indicative of nothing else ‘han pardon the slangy expression—to hook back an erring sheep into the fold. “The staff of old was not only the pilgrim’s support on his weary voyage | and his weapon of defense against the | anlinals of the forest and the foot-pads | of the highway; it was the means by { which he jumped ditches and water- { courses, Then it became from a matter {of comfort one of luxury. The Creeks carried canes as tokens of digni- (ty. Don’t you recollect from your school days how Socrates used his cane He oid as ®n aid in teaching his scholars, | aidht whip them, of course, but Xeno- { phon tells us how his old teacher used to stop his pupils on the streets of Ath- ens ad made them answe; questions before he let them pass, Rome honored her first SCIpO bY giving him the si ognition of t d father, 1 olden times, the staff be. scensary attribute of the way- i ‘Friendship voyage, love a Modern : veryihiing to the hion, has robbed the red staff of every vestige of di and converted it into the old and the cigar of he favorite means to give something like grace u | men who do not know what to do with heir hands, at the same time to mike awkward panses in a dragging com sation endurable, For any number of people the cane, be it only the mnsignifi- one of dude. has become a necessary requisite, Take the cane away from them and they seem to be 11 ol of the staff in re hue “Wal to His © HAYS: time, EVer- omenade,’ Cane, snuffbox of 7, the cane } 148 become 1 cant the yw and hands protruding unnat- brow 14 i Sop arm and y far from the coatsleeves, Il wear a cane under thar endanger the eves and noses of those hind then whirl them | around and hit somebody on the shins: they will vacantly suck at the head of the cane or carry it thoughtfully like a Motos withstand make a dash with cat and dog that Crosse sir path, and others are eagerly 1 ir tl of fences or windows to Cane as » ys #1 ey wiil sword at rest, cannot the temptations to $haarke so thelr of the rattle them they walk along uld some of us do in a ge y without a cane? To rest both hands upon it hands leads and ives +1 LETS 3 corrugated 0 ated it may sound paradoxical, bs , that the cane, standard by of a people ed much £ x fh + vesde DEeYeruneiess, tru as soap and coal oil, is which to measure the cu That men after having ; 1 applications of staff and cane have left them in existence, but hem to being symbols of bject to fashion Oa i testifies amply to the good nature of mankind The aborigina’ Indian, perhaps, would see in the carrying of a cane a sign of weakness, but en we are judged higher standar 2 + that, Ve rejoice woeeeded in rob- bing the beadle and the corporal of the attribute of their office, because the con- viction there are more effective means to uphold order and discipline has become general, and we are proud that we wrung from barbarous ages a token of punishment and converted it into a sort of standard bv which fo measure good breeding. See?” a tur suffer rid OY 3 ang COLIATS, oy that sn nami AAAI 50555 Fancy Timber, “A time will come when lumber will be scarce,”’ said a large the other day “This country is settling up so fast that forests are destroyed to make way for | the fields. The annual supplies from Mane, Minnesota, Georgia. Florida and other States will in a few years be { exhausted. The fine woods, such as mahogany, ebony, walnut, cherry, ash and rosewood, are much in demand. Men who own lands that furnish any of {this flue timber in abundance are { wealthy, The lumber trade of New Y ork city alone is $30,000,000 annually, i and is considerably in excess of the cot- ton trade. There is more money in- { vested jn the lumber trade in New York | than is popularly supposed. Timber is | high, especially the finest grades, Ma- hogany seems to have the call in demand at present, closely followed by cherry Spruce is picking up in price { and can be purchased at $17 and $19 per | cargo, wholesale rates. The yellow pine | found largely in Florida and Georgia is fast becoming a great trade, Ebony wood has been discovered in large quan- tities in the Grand Chacon, a vast wil- derness in the Argentine Republic. However, that is too far off to be of much service 10 our dealers. Fine tim. ber is always salable and commands good, round prices,’ and ash,
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers